


Enemies to Lovers in 4,000 words

by hydrangeamaiden



Series: Lacenet Collection [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Healing, Kissing, Pillow Talk, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Romance, Tender Sex, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/pseuds/hydrangeamaiden
Summary: Lace and Hornet have an intimate moment together.





	Enemies to Lovers in 4,000 words

Lace peeks out into the corridor, and with a self-satisfied hum, shuts the door. She reassures Hornet, “They won't find us in here, so just relax.”

But Hornet can't relax. Not in Pharloom. Especially not with Lace, who has, on most occasions, tried to kill her. When the lock clicks, she jolts in alarm. The sudden action causes her to wince, and she eases back down onto the moss. The pain in her chest is the only thing keeping her from running. An ichorous black flower blooms on the front of her poncho, and grows wider with each movement. Hornet rolls onto her side anyway. She puts her arms around herself, and waits helplessly for Lace to approach and skewer her.

“Don't give me the cold shoulder. I just saved your life.” Lace's takes Hornet's shoulder, and forces her onto her back. With a few deft movements, she sticks pins on both sides of Hornet's clothing. The horror is immediate: Lace is going to stick her with pins. But in such a confined space? And without the satisfaction of a brutal beat-down? Hornet breathes heavily. She's pinned in a way that her arms are immobile, but she can still use her legs. A swing of her knee sends Lace tumbling back.

Hornet thrashes her way out of one pin, and is about to go for the next when her chest spasms. She grimaces and clenches the front of her poncho, which is now thoroughly soaked. Being occupied with her pain, she is in no position to push Lace off of her this time. Her freed arm is wrenched away and pinned back in place.

“Don't touch me!” Hornet hisses at her perceived captor, who silences her with with a hand pressed to the front of her shell. Her muffled rage is dulled to a rumble against that silk-gloved hand, which begins to stroke her. The sudden gentleness strikes her dumb, allowing Lace to get close. Her white-clad knee brushes against Hornet's hip, and now she is holding Hornet's head in both her hands, rubbing her fingers along the underside and caressing between her horns.

“Shhh. Sh sh sh,” Lace soothes. Hornet utters a moan of humiliation and defeat. Also pain. Let us not forget the gaping wound on her carapace. It is too deep and too inconvenient for her to mend by herself. When Lace rolls up her poncho, she doesn't protest. The cloth is lifted in a way that Hornet can't see the wound, but Lace's expression says it all.

“Well?” Hornet grumbles. She wouldn't be surprised if Lace could see her heart beating.

“I'm amazed you can still talk,” Lace snorts. Her laughter is beautiful, in an undignified sort of way. Hornet thinks she's going delirious from blood loss. “This is getting in the way, so I'm taking it off.”

Lace removes the pins from Hornet's poncho, which she then removes. The contents of its pockets jangle, and a couple of throwing needles fall onto the moss. Lace picks one up and inspects it. “How cute,” she comments, and tosses it to the side. Hornet looks on in dismay as her garb is laid to the side; her most valuable possessions come to mind. Her needle is resting against the adjacent wall. All of her tools, rosaries, and keepsakes are with her poncho. She never considered herself materialistic, but being left with nothing but her own body and an aching wound is uncomfortable.

Out of her periphery, she sees Lace put her hand on the handle of her pin.

“I could do it now, you know. I could put you out of your misery. You've already given me an opening,” Lace murmurs, partly to herself. Hornet, lying prone on the moss, maintains eye contact. Without her poncho, she is thin and exposed. She is unarmed, she is bleeding out. If Lace intends to go through with it, she'll not face her death like a coward.

She braces herself when Lace raises her pin, but its sharp tip finds a crack in the ground instead. Lace's hand hovers near it. When she's sure it won't fall, she turns her attention back to her patient.

“Why not?” Hornet asks, equal parts relieved and confused.

“It's just wouldn't be satisfying this way.” Lace shrugs, and her smile seems forced. “Besides, all those times I said I liked you—I really did mean it, little spider.”

Hornet swallows. “That's a strange way of showing it.”

“Then how about something a little more orthodox, before you bleed to death?” Lace digs into a pocket for a few small containers. Some Hornet recognizes as common healing items, but most are unfamiliar. She wets a handful of moss with something from a bottle, and starts dabbing at Hornet's wound. It stings when touching her exposed flesh. She turns her head to the side and focuses her attention on a leak in the ceiling. In the silence, she hears each drop tap the stone floor. She's unsurprised that such a hovel exists in the middle layers of the kingdom. Peel away the pretty exterior, and you'll see the rot underneath.

Lace sets aside the blood-soaked moss, and tears off another chunk. This she dabs in a bowl of water—when did she get water? And a vessel for it? And there's her poncho, clean and draped over a rock. Hornet blinks and lifts her head, but is pushed gently back down.

“Be still,” Lace commands. Her firm but gentle tone still has a bite of mirth in it. Perhaps she just naturally sounds that happy, but it doesn't reflect in her expression. “I'm out of silk. Do you, perhaps, know where your spinnerets are?”

That is the stupidest question Hornet has ever heard. Then she realizes it's a matter of courtesy. Even other Weavers don't go poking around at each other, looking to borrow silk. Hornet's shell grows hot, and she mumbles under her breath.

“What? Speak up, dear.”

Hornet flushes at the use of 'dear'. It's tender. Anything but tender. This is the enemy, who still needs to bandage her wounds.

“Lower,” Hornet chokes out. “No, lower.”

Lace's eyes trail down Hornet's abdomen with interest. She lifts bends a spidery leg at the knee and holds it against her waist. Lace's fingers poke and prod methodically between Hornet's legs, and then find an opening that makes Hornet gasp in pain.

“Oh!” Lace jerks her hand away, equally shocked. The princess-knight has been robbed of her clothes, her tools, and now her dignity.

“Be gentle!” Hornet blusters. Her voice cracks horribly with her outburst. “A Weaver's spinnerets are _very_ delicate.”

She doesn't realize she's trembling until Lace is petting her again. Soft hands, now bare, rub the tension from her shoulders and ply her balled-up fists into open hands. Hornet doesn't know if her chest hurts from the antiseptic, or the embarrassment of it all. Lace's fingers do not return to her spinnerets, but instead start feeling gently around the underside of her shell.

“Noisy little thing.” Hornet's cheeks burn. She is only a few inches shorter than Lace, and they're probably the same age. She's not _little_. She seethes as Lace tilts her head back. “I'll give you painkillers first, so hush, already. Where is your mouth?”

Hornet keeps it shut at first, out of defiance, but any kind of medication would be helpful. She ran out of Lifeblood vials a while ago, and shudders at the thought of bearing residual pain from her treatment. The moment she lets her jaw give way, Lace's fingers slide in to force out her pedipalps and chelicerae, which she proceeds to smother in a blue gel. It has the subtle sweet taste of Lifeblood, but it's made sour by Lace's forceful treatment. Hornet reflexively bites down and starts to struggle away. She almost wishes she could die. Not even her siblings are are this brazen with her.

Oh, her siblings. She remembers Hollow. They had slept in that morning, and only mumbled at her when she said she was going out. She remembers Ghost, sitting on the bench and looking up at her with empty yet trusting eyes. She said she'd only be gone for a few minutes. Now she was Wyrm-knows-how-far away from the both of them, reduced to this miserable state because of an unnecessary battle she was unprepared for.

She feels something wet in her mouth, and thinks it's blood, but it's salty and cold. This entire time, Lace has been staring relentlessly at her. Hornet doesn't notice until she is spoken to.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question pierces Hornet harder than the gilded pin could have. In her disturbance, she loosens her jaw, and Lace pulls her hand out.

“Poor spider. You _are_ afraid. Just be good, and hold still.”

After feeding Hornet some more medicine, she holds her mouth shut. Perhaps being forced to swallow like a stubborn grub is her punishment for lashing out. Lace doesn't seem angry about it. Then again, it is hard to tell what she's thinking. The corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile, even though her hand is swollen and bleeding. She doesn't even look at it; Hornet's spinnerets are apparently more interesting.

The medicine does its job, and Hornet struggles to do hers. She wants to leap up and find something to bandage Lace's hand. Biting someone like that isn't her. Is it? Whether she likes it or not, she injured someone who was just trying to help her. But the Lace she knows wouldn't hesitate to kill her. She doesn't recognized this white-clad bug, staring wide-eyed at a length of silk between her fingers.

“Wyrm silk,” she breathes. Then, with pity: “No wonder they wanted you so badly.”

Lace helps Hornet into a sitting position, and winds the silk around her chest. Having her spinnerets handled still feels uncomfortable, but her nurse is swift, even when dressing the minor injuries on her limbs and back. It's not the same as doing it herself, but gives her an odd sense of security. The last time someone had touched her was back home. Ghost had been holding her hand.

Her vision is blocked by dark red cloth, and she startles again, but it is just Lace pulling the poncho over her head. It is fully dry now, but cold. The lack of stains confirms that she _did_ pass out while being tended to. The pockets are empty. Lace is adjusting the neck, and Hornet takes the opportunity to grasp the wrist of her inflamed hand?

“If I were you, I wouldn't—Ah!” She squeaks with pain when Hornet puts her mouth to the wound. This goes ignored, as the spider begins to suck out her venom. Lace quickly settles, and watches without so much as a quip. When the inflammation has finally gone down, Hornet wraps some silk around her hand to guard it from infection.

She's a little woozy from drinking her own poison, but that will be the worst of it. Unable to make eye contact, she simply lowers her head in submission. She only gets a moment to marinate in her shame. Then, Lace is touching her again: loving hands stroking her arms, wrapping around her waist, pulling her into an unfamiliar embrace. They're both kneeling in the soft moss, with Hornet's thighs pressed between Lace's. Two fluttering hearts pressed against each other, palpable even beneath thick cloth and carapace. Hornet is pinned not with needles, but a sturdy embrace. Her head lies bewildered on Lace's shoulder.

“You did well to bear all of that. Precious thing.” Lace rubs Hornet between the shoulder blades as she whispers lovingly. Hornet notices that these hands, however, gentle, are shaking. She slides down ever so slightly, and cranes her neck to look into Lace's eyes. These are not the fierce eyes of a trained warrior, but something fearful and unguarded. In treating each other's wounds, they've opened up something raw within each other. Hornet understands this at once, and is frightened by the vulnerability.

“Why?” Hornet, now confident in her composure, speaks. “Why are you being so gentle?”

In her eyes, there's an unspoken plea to turn back time, for her to escape on her own before she could swoon into her enemy's arms. It is so much easier to see other people as dangerous than as complicated beings. It complicates _her_, leaves her open and questioning despite everything that warns her otherwise. Past Lace's cruel surface, she sees something strange yet inviting. A little part of her that failed to die with the rest of Hallownest begs her to learn everything.

“Is it not obvious?” Lace whispers. She leans forward as Hornet tilts her head up to listen, and the two meet in a clumsy almost-kiss. They quickly part, both equally shocked, and it is Lace who re-initiates contact. She inches closer, and gives Hornet a proper kiss this time. It lasts a second, but seems to linger forever on Hornet's shell.

“It is.” Hornet, almost shy, cups the other's face in her hands. Her black eyes gaze deep into Lace's white ones, yet she is unable to decipher any meaning. “But I thought you--”

“I know.” Lace pulls Hornet close again, and mumbles into her neck. Her warm breath tingles against her carapace. “I know. Death would have been a mercy compared to what they'd do to you. Understand me a little.”

Her embrace tightens protectively. Hornet puts her arms around Lace's neck. It's so straightforward: whatever is at the kingdom's peak is so terrible that Lace thought it'd be better to kill her first. And how many has Hornet herself killed? Those pitiful little vessels, strewn around Hallownest. Her own siblings, suffering and struggling. Ghost, refusing to die. To Lace, she had been as good as dead the moment she entered Pharloom. But is she not still here, still alive?

“You could have made well on your promise tonight. You changed your mind,” Hornet says in a small voice. Lace nods against her shoulder.

“I did. You ruined my conviction. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. What did you do to me?” Lace's laughter this time is sad and deflated. Again she kisses Hornet's mouth, under her eyes, her horns, her neck. She stamps fire into Hornet's shell, and sets her body alight with pleasure. The Daughter of Hallownest has never experienced the sweet touch of a lover, and was not given the luxury to dream about it. She swoons at each touch, and Lace does well to accommodate her. When Hornet winces from her injuries, Lace guides her onto her back.

Hornet is out of breath and aching, both physically and mentally. Her heart skips a beat when Lace rests a hand on her thigh. In response, she holds out her arms. Now that she has tasted the sweet indulgence of intimacy, she is overcome with want. Her natural barriers come down, and all she wants is to have Lace close to her, to feel and to share. Lace happily obliges this silent request, and kneels above Hornet with her waist between her thighs.

“Lace. Lace...” Hornet starts, and is silenced with a kiss. Lace is petting her wounded chest, while moving her hand further under her poncho.

“Hush,” Lace whispers, and giggles when the spider's protests fall silent. “I like this docile side of yours, too. You're being so good for me.”

Hornet wouldn't consider herself docile by any definition of the word. But these are unfamiliar waters, and—acknowledging this with frustration—she can't be assertive when she doesn't know what to _do_. She's getting that mental itch she always gets when she's still for too long. She puts a hand to Lace's chest and rubs gently, pleased with the noises it draws from her.

“Little spider, let me be sweet to you. Will you?” She spreads one of Hornet's thighs apart, drawing a surprised moan from her. It's clear what they both want, but neither of them move until Hornet breaks down like she's begging to an angel of mercy. Which is, coincidentally, what Lace is becoming to her at this point.

“Please. Yes. Just stop teasing me like this. I can't take it,” Hornet pleads, putting a hand over her eyes. She can't keep quiet, but she feels self-conscious speaking, too. What is she to say? She interlocks her fingers with Lace's, and holds tight. She feels her move her fingers from her spinnerets to the slit further up between her legs.

Lace touches Hornet the way she touches herself: with short, quick strokes. The spider's soft moans are sweeter than music, and her breath hitches in the most lovely way when Lace kisses her neck. She rubs the back of Hornet's hand with her thumb, wishing she had been born with more arms. Having two doesn't feel like enough to hold her with. She makes up for it by nibbling Hornet's neck, until she is a quivering puddle beneath her. Lace desperately needs her own release, and begins to touch herself as she kisses down Hornet's body. Her obsidian shell is hot, and between the thighs she smells sweet and musky. Lace drapes Hornet's knees over her shoulders, and leans in to taste her.

Hornet's reaction is immediate: she keens softly in surprise, and then gasps in pleasure. Lace pries their hands apart, and wraps her arm around one of the spider's legs. All the while, she desperately fingers herself. How funny that Lace used to tease Hornet about being a little morsel. She really _is_ delicious. Lace takes a moment to catch her breath, though she ends up using it on sweet nothings again.

“You're so beautiful like this. Does it feel nice? You've done so well, you deserve it—” She gasps quietly under her own self-ministrations. When Hornet realizes what she's doing, her heart swells in excitement. She thought Lace infallible, but does not have time to appreciate this show of vulnerability. She herself has been made prone, and when Lace's mouth is against her, she comes undone all over again. Each word murmured against her carapace is as powerful as any touch, and she begins to crave more of it. It is strange, since she normally feels uncomfortable with such flattery. In Hallownest and Pharloom both, she avoids it.

She can't make sense of it. It is impossible to think beyond want, with Lace stirring up her insides. She laps at Hornet in just the right way, and she spasms. Her sharp cry is muffled in the moss beneath the two; she is too afraid it would alert someone outside. She rides out her orgasm in forced silence, quivering when Lace continues to lick her. After what feels like an eternity, she feels a comforting weight pressed against her side. As if they had always been together, Lace nuzzles into her neck. Hornet slides a hand down her stomach and between her legs, where she hovers uncertainly. Lace takes her hand and guides it the rest of the way down, until her Hornet's fingertips are against her slit.

Hornet is not the most romantic person, but she makes do. She turns Lace onto her back, and lies half on her with their chests pressed together. Putting such pressure on her wound makes it ache, but she has spent enough time on her back. With new confidence, she slips a finger into Lace, and then another. There is little moaning between the two; Lace turns out to be even quieter than she is, simply clinging to her shoulders and gasping every so often. Hornet regrets not being able to use her mouth, on account of her venom and how spider mouths in general are not suited for this type of intimacy. She does not want to try otherwise and end up hurting Lace. What a thought. Something is wrong with her.

But then why does it feel so right? She really has no idea what she's doing: she hardly ever touches herself, to begin with. Her strokes are so clumsy that Lace has to reach down and guide her along. There's an obvious inexperience that allows Lace to get back on top, and straddle one of Hornet's thighs. She rocks her hips, and for a moment Hornet thinks she's going to rut against her leg. Then she feels their clits rub together, and her vision bursts with stars. Lace moans ever so quietly, and arches her back in pleasure. Hornet tugs Lace's arm, and is pleased when she leans down to embrace her. The two remain in a tangled embrace, pressing against each other until they are both spent.

They crumple against the moss, out of breath and weary. Hornet clutches her chest and curls her legs to her chest; in her zeal, she had moved in a way that aggravated her injuries. Lace holds her from behind, and exhales against her neck.

“Was that your first time doing this?” she asks. Hornet stammers out a 'yes', and Lace laughs gently into her hand. “I could tell. You're very good at it, though.”

Hornet buries her face in the moss. “When would I have ever—? Don't laugh at me.”

“I can't help it. You're so cute,” Lace admits. Hornet didn't realize it until now, but she has never heard Lace sound this relaxed. “You're adorable. I could eat you up, I mean it. You're precious. You should see your face whenever I compliment you.”

Hornet can't see her own face, but she's flushed pink under the eyes and squinting with equal parts embarrassment and bliss. Lace kisses her shoulder while rubbing her chest in small, circular motions. Now that Hornet is at rest, she feels the pain subside. The massage is admittedly helping, the way certain aches and pains feel better when you apply pressure to them. She absentmindedly rubs one of her bandaged arms, and confesses: “I'm unused to such praise.”

“Then I'll keep doing it until you're used to it. Maybe then you wouldn't be so prickly.” Lace's giggle is muffled against Hornet's shoulder. “But I wouldn't mind if you stayed that way, to be honest. It's no fun when you only act one way.”

“I could say the same for you,” Hornet sighs. After a moment's pause, she asks, “But you were duty-bound to kill me, were you not? When I've healed up and we leave this room, what is going to happen?”

“You, little spider, shall continue your futile pilgrimage, and I...” Lace trails off, for once not knowing what to say next. She quickly regains her footing, and answers, “Well, I suppose I'm a fugitive now that we've consummated our relationship. I still believe you'd be better off dying than reaching the kingdom's summit, but I dare say I've grown attached to you.”

“Does that mean you're my girlfriend, now?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Hornet rolls over so that they're facing each other. Lace's eyes are crinkled at the corners in her characteristic, pleasant smile. Who knows what could happen with Lace? She might end up mercy-killing Hornet anyway. But her actions are still done out of _mercy_, albeit a twisted form of it. Putting all this aside, Hornet has been nursing a strange attachment, herself. Even before this, she always found her eyes drawn to that woman in white, listening for her laughter, anticipating the clash of blades. She has also discovered the potential for something good, one more thing to hold onto, one more thing to fear losing. One more thing to keep.

Fool that she is, she reaches for that chance and holds on tight. She mumbles her assent, and again Lace has to ask her to speak up.

“You're a quiet thing. Would you say that again?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Lace's fingers ghost against Hornet's cheek. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you to be.” She puts her hand on Lace's, holding it there.

“Then we're together,” Lace says decidedly. She scoots closer and puts their foreheads together, and Hornet feels her last bit of tension melt away.

**Author's Note:**

> In times of desperation for that sweet, sweet lacenet content, Holly Blue Agate comes to me, speaking words of wisdom: If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself. Also I'm working off of literally one conversation between these two, and the most basic of summaries for a game that hasn't even come out yet.


End file.
